


Home, Sick

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:10:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: Percival is sick and Newt isn't around. Madame Picquery doesn't want to have to fill in the paperwork for murder on a Monday morning.





	Home, Sick

It’s a Monday when Percival Graves falls ill, not that he admits that. His nose is runny and itches horribly, his throat is scratchy, and his eyes keep watering to the point he looks like he’s in constant tears. Because he’s not. Crying, that is, or sick. He doesn’t get sick. Anyone who says he gets sick is getting fired. When Percival walks into the Major Investigations Department, leaning a little more heavily onto his cane (which he won’t admit he needs whilst his knee is healing from the Grindelwald fiasco, but really no one is surprised he’s being so bull-headed) and with perspiration lining his paler than usual face, his people immediately look to the schedule they have drawn up on the whiteboard. They call it the “Percival Graves care chart”, and they each take turns to  _try_  to get the director to admit he’s sick and  _try_  to get him to go home. They don’t always succeed, and sometimes it takes a combination of cajoling from several people and threats from Madame Picquery that she’s placing him on house arrest to get the man to, very grudgingly, concur that he’s not feeling well and needs rest. Their current success rate is at a 5 to 2; the 2 failures were when two Aurors, on two separate occasions, thought they could take the director on in a duel. They ended up being sent to the medical wing, each suffering a nasty concussion and a warning letter to never,  _ever_  challenge Percival to a duel again. Ever.

It’s Auror Goldstein’s turn today to try and get Percival to go home and rest, and she groans when her colleagues give her pats on the back and murmuring their sympathy, although she knows they’re all secretly relieved it’s not their turn. Because of  _course_  it would be her turn _just_ when Newt was back in London. Of _course_ it would be her turn when their sure fire backup plan can’t work because _there’s no Newt to back them up_. Not that Percival gives in that easily to Newt; the man is determined to prove his Aurors wrong when he hears about this supposed theory that Newt is able to get him to do things no one else can. Because Newt _can’t_. Percival does things because he wants to, not because Newt bats his blue eyes and those freckles look oh so charming and – _No_. Percival Graves does _not_ submit to Newt Scamander. Or anyone.

Anyway. Tina squares her shoulders and readies her wand before she goes into Percival’s office, just in case. It’s a good three hours of shouting and banging and wincing from the Aurors (Madame Picquery’s made an appearance to remind them she’s _not_ dealing with the paperwork that comes from either person killing the other on a Monday) before they both emerge. Tina’s breathing heavily with disheveled clothes, dragging a barely conscious Percival by the collar. He’s using what little coherence he has left to grumble at Tina - _you’ll be stuck in Wand Permits for the rest of_ _~~unintelligible slurs~~_ \- but Tina has zero fucks to give. She forces him into his coat and makes him stand properly so they can leave the Woolworth building with his dignity still in- _Mr Graves I swear to god if you don’t stop whining, you’re going to explain to everyone why you’re hog tied and floating through the entire building_. He shuts up, not entirely, but enough that she can properly Apparate them to his fancy apartment without splinching them. Because Newt is a mother bear and frankly, she’d rather take on an angry Percival and not an angry Newt and his band of creatures, who’ve come to be ridiculously protective of Percival.

Percival’s half gone by the time she gets the door open and the wards disarmed, and she’s grateful because at least he’s not fighting her tooth and nail. She’s gentler now, coaxing the tired man to remove his shoes before helping him into his room. He’s at least cognizant enough to change into more comfortable sweatpants, leaving his upper torso bare, to which Tina blushes because he’s her boss and he has a rather attractive chest, sculpted but not overly so, with a sprinkle of greying hairs and several scars. She busies herself by Summoning several blankets but doesn’t magic them on and around him. One by one, she wraps the layers of blankets around the drowsy man, snug enough that he feels warm but not too tight that he might suffocate. She nearly coos when only the top of his head is visible from the blanket wrap she made, but refrains and lowers him onto the bed. He’s out before she’s even done, and she tenderly brushes his now loose hair away from his face. He looks softer, less severe and the perpetual lines on his face are lighter. She thinks he looks terribly snuggleble ( _neither Tina nor the writer are sure if this is even a word_ ) and that Newt’s presence in his life might have something to do with it.  

Newt’s not due to be back for another day, and Percival makes her promise, under pain of death and the loss of her job, that she’d not contact the magizoologist and call him away from his duties. So Tina stays for the day, and Queenie joins her. He wakes up several times, during which either sister is always on hand to make sure he drinks enough water and eats the warm soup Queenie’s prepared. He barely speaks 10 words to them, communicating with grunts and occasional growls but Queenie isn’t as deterred by his crabbiness as her sister is.  She merely offers him her usual bubbly smile and she catches fragments of thoughts which feel like grudging acceptance and a hum of contentedness underneath the sick and the grump. She even spies a tiny smile when she’s singing whilst cleaning up the clutter in his home. The blonde thinks it’s a nice smile, and tells him so. She thinks the shy Percival that emerges then is her favourite and pecks him on the cheek. The spot where she kisses him is bright red and so is his entire face.

Percival makes the Goldstein sisters go to work the next day, and insist that he’ll be fine alone. They aren’t convinced, but his fever _has_ gone down and he’s well enough to bark orders at them, so they go to work, leaving abundant supplies of warm meals and instructions to call them because _good grief Mr Graves, if Newt comes home to find your dead body, I’ll tell your corpse I told you so._ He’s strangely touched at the care they’ve shown him, and he makes a note to put in Tina’s name for a promotion that’s coming up next month, and to send Queenie an order of baked goods from that No-Maj bakery downtown that she seems to love. He’ll deny these accusations when they ask him about it, after Tina gets her promotion and Queenie is surprised by a Mr Kowalski delivering the baked goods to her, but Tina offers him a bright smile now whenever she passes him and Queenie gives him the best coffee ever every day, so he thinks he’s not as successful at hiding his actions as he thinks he is.

Newt comes home in the evening, tired after a long journey and ready to cuddle with Percival, when he notices the apartment is deathly quiet, and Pickett is chittering about a smell of sickness in their home. Cautiously, wand out, the red-head makes way to their bedroom, with Pickett nervously peeking from the top of his pocket, leafy limbs swaying. There’s the muffled sound of cursing coming from inside the room, which confuses the man because isn’t Perce supposed to be at work now? He throws the door open, and is greeted by the sight of Percival Graves sprawled on the floor, blankets pooling around his legs. The sight is both adorable and confusing at the same time, even more so when Percival’s swearing becomes louder and he switches between English and something that sounds like Gaelic.

Newt, being Newt, blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. He’s not entirely sure why he says that, either.

“Oh, hello.”

Said swearing stops, and Percival cranes his neck upwards to take in the lanky form of his partner. He blinks, then tries to stand up. It’s a testament to his sheer bullheadedness that he manages to get halfway upright before wobbling and pitching forward, and it’s a good thing Newt’s limbs are long enough that he catches the falling man before his face meets the floor. Percival thus finds his face buried, somewhat uncomfortably, in the soft woolen material of Newt’s coat. His familiar scent of light sweat, his creatures and the fresh sting of grass, courtesy of Pickett no doubt, tickles Percival’s nose and makes him feel slightly better about being found face down on the floor.

He attempts a smile, which is so pathetic that Newt feels something in him melt, and on one hand, he just wants to cuddle his sick partner and nurse him to health. But sick Percival is a very rare occurrence and really, quite an adorable sight, and a (very small) sadistic part of Newt is thrilled that the normally powerful and unflappable man is so helpless and has to rely on _him_ , and frankly, the little pout on Percival’s lips makes Newt wish he stays sick, if only so the pout stays. That’s not a very Newt-like thought though, so he quickly shakes it off and helps the sick man untangle his feet from the blankets and back to bed. That’s a thought he’ll be saving for the next time they’re both feeling adventurous. And not sick.

He’s tucking the blankets snugly around Percival and leaving to get some warm soup, when his partner catches him by the hand, and with a surprising amount of force, pulls him down for a kiss that’s at once sweet and soft and demanding. The red-head is blinking owlishly when Percival lets him go, a devilish grin on his still tired face. Despite his previous thoughts about Percival being at his mercy, Newt is blushing furiously at how dominant the other man is being, and he stammers an excuse before rushing off to the kitchen, long limbs nearly flailing. The older man snorts and smiles indulgently as he settles back into the pillows; that’ll teach Newt to leave him alone for so long (even though Newt’s been pacifying him since before he left, _really Percival, it’s only 3 days you big baby! No, I have to leave n- STOP IT YOU KNOW I’M TICKLISH THERE_ ). He sighs blissfully at the soothing sounds of clanging pots and pans and Newt’s rich tenor voice floating in from the kitchen, and his eyes flutter close as Newt’s singing about castles and rolling fields and going home and the last coherent thought he has before dropping off to sleep is that he’s glad he’s found his home in Newt.

Newt returns to their bedroom, warm soup and bread in hand when he’s greeted by the sight of Dougal curling around Percival’s head, the latter snoring peacefully as the Demiguise carefully grooms him. Dougal turns his bright yellow eyes at Newt and huffs softly, as if reminding the lanky man not to disturb Percival’s sleep. He’s always had a soft spot for Percival, sensing the hurt festering within the broken man after MACUSA managed to rescue him from Grindelwald. In a way, he was the one who initiated the relationship between Percival and Newt; the magizoologist was visiting Tina after she was reinstated as an Auror when Dougal forced his way out of the suitcase and leapt straight at a very surprised Percival. Their first meeting thus consisted of Percival trying to coax the determined Demiguise to relax his grip on his neck, not knowing if he should laugh or yell at Newt, and Newt mumbling an apology for Dougal’s behaviour.

Setting aside the soup on the nightstand with a stasis spell to keep it warm, Newt climbs into bed with Percival and Dougal, who carefully climbs over to the other side to accommodate Newt’s presence. Pickett, who’s still in his friend’s pocket, climbs out and nestles itself in Dougal’s warm fur, and Newt, still tired from his journey back from London, is lulled into Morpheus’s arms by the gently crooning of his Demiguise and Percival’s warmth. It’s really the best feeling ever, being home, and even though Percival’s hair tickles his nose and his snores are a little louder because of his stuffed nose, Newt thinks he’d not rather be anywhere than here.


End file.
